


Only a brilliant mind

by Mr Shizu-chan (kuuhu)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: 1920s, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Eventual Smut, M/M, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Unrequited Love, god save our poor boys, literally dont know what im doing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-28 00:49:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12594316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuuhu/pseuds/Mr%20Shizu-chan
Summary: !!UNDER CONSTRUCTION - BEING REWRITTEN!!What started as a nagging feeling, a simple suspicion,  became certainty as the train rolled on and no familiar lights drifted past the window. This wasn't the right train. Alex stuck his face to the window and stared out, trying to work out where he was by landmarks, but there were no clues, not one: no signs, no shops, nothing."Why are you sorry?"Hamilton could have jumped five foot.An uncertain friendship, a deep respect, a subtle mystery, an amorous exchange - the wrong destination.--Alexander moved to York New from the Caribbean in 1921. He took the wrong train from central New York in 1922. Living to see 1923 doesn't seem like an option until he meets a man proposing a life binding deal. Only if he can see through the darkness will he be able to leave alive.---





	1. I walk these streets famished

**Author's Note:**

> TW PANIC ATTACK SKIP FROM "Just silence" TO "***"  
> \---------  
> 1920s au where I just want my baby Alex to be happy but I don't think that's gonna happen,,,,,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls bare with me i rly want to finish this at some point haha

It hadn't yet dawned on Alexander what was wrong as he sat in empty row, because that train was where last train should have been - a little two-carriage steam-ran at the end of the platform - and he had compromised his steady-breathing to catch it. The light drizzle caught on his dark, thick hair didn't even cross his mind as he put his feet up, shoes somewhat messily on the floor in front of him, on the seat opposite and attempted to gain his breath again. The train had already started moving once he placed a foot on board, so he could hopefully get home sooner than expected. Alex smiled to himself. He sat looking down the confined walking space of the carriage, watching the long, black line of windows bobbing in a smooth rhythm as the train trundled down the uneven track, and even then nothing seemed off to him. Even if there were usually at least half a dozen other people on the train with him, the few times he'd decided against walking, but the seats around him carried no passengers, Alex blamed it on his tardiness; he just happened to have this carriage just to himself. 

For the first time in his life, he had found himself alone at the age of nineteen. Of course he had felt loneliness before that point: at ten, then at twelve and even after that - seventeen towered over Alex like a thunderstorm. However, none of these times had ever felt the same as he had stepping his first toe onto New York pave stones. The nights showed a blur of huddled heaps of torn trousers and ripped shirts, sitting alone and utterly terrified in the darkness. Like a goddess the dark consumed his frail, ravenous form. Night was always the worst. A hellish kind of isolation where his only company was loneliness, even if loneliness would never leave. His mother wasn't there to soothe or stroke his matted hair, nor were the kindly people in Nevis. It was just him, alone in a strange place with strange people.

By eighteen, his mind had got used to isolation and the cramped apartment in the outskirts of the city helped sooth him instead of the chatter back in his home town. He smiled when the familiar scent of nothingness met him every time he unlocked the door - maybe it didn't make him truly happy, but it was better than cigar smoke to lull him to sleep. Alex also had a desk and a typewriter, two things he certainly didn't have sleeping on the streets: they were all he wanted, all he needed, and with just them he was content. 

It only slowly crept over him that something was wrong, the something not exactly make much sense. It was more like a fleeting thought that the train should have passed the main station by now began to rise up through his mind, like a young child tugging at his sleeve, and he sat up in the seat. Flicking a stray strand of hair out of his face, he brought his hands to the cool glass of the window and narrowed his eyes. All he could see was dark: no club lights, no dimming streetlights in the distance. Breath condensing against the cold glass, he rubbed it clear and looked again, but there was nothing to see. Only the sky shrouded in darkness.

What started as a nagging feeling, a simple suspicion, became certainty as the train rolled on and no familiar lights drifted past the window. This wasn't the right train. Alex stuck his face to the window and stared out, trying to work out where he was by landmarks, but there were no clues, not one: no signs, no shops, nothing. He pulled at his lip with his teeth, desperately wanting the train to just stop where it was so he could get off, but it showed no sign of slowing. He glanced around the carriage frantically - a way to contact the driver had to have been somewhere.. on the luggage compartment perhaps? Pushing himself up on back of the seat, his azure eyes studied the dusty shelves swiftly before jumping back down, and slumping in his seat. Ten, fifteen minutes, maybe, he just sat helpless, (crawling along the aisle floor didn't further his search either) gazing with hazy eyes at the empty row and the dark mirrors of the windows while the sound of steam droned on, taking him to an unknown destination.

At last, the train began to slow. Alex sighed to himself, one of unrealised relief. For an indeterminable several minutes, it crawled along as though on the verge of stopping, but never actually did, and each time he stood up to get off, it began to pick up speed again. Eventually, the train juddered to a halt in the dark, and he didn't even know whether it was at a platform or not because, cupping his hands to the glass, there were few lights and a low brick wall to be seen. However, he watched as the train doors were able to be slid open, and being off the train seemed a better deal than being on it. Shoving his hands into his coat pocket, he stepped onto the thin layer of ice that coated the station platform before he had time to assess whether it was a good idea or not. The gentle slam of the train door behind him helped him get to a clear decision, but before he could turn around the steam started to chug steadily again and he only had time to watch it pulling away, leaving him stranded in the darkness. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea after all, but by then it was too late to do anything except watch the steam of the train disappear. He ran a hand through the front of his wavy hair, tightening the small ponytail at the back as he did so, and inhaled deeply. There was no one else on the platform and when the sound of the train wheels on the track couldn't be heard anymore, there was no sound at all. Just silence.

He knew tensing against the shaking of his limbs was useless, but he did it instinctively, trying to suppress for a few moments what he knew he couldn't. He felt his breath start to quicken, lose its steady pace, but what was the point? He got himself into that mess. Even so, he felt the tears prick at the backs of his dark eyes. He was alone. Usually, he'd need to drink in the silence to counteract the fear that threatened to engulf him; the same kind of thick silence would chill him every other time, especially on an inky night devoid of even moonlight or stars, but if he thought hard enough Alexander could work it like a salve. Feel it. The more absolute the better, if it was strong, he was strong. But it wasn't. It was barely lingering due to the ringing in his mind and he realised too late that he'd misjudged the rapid onset of the shaking, his limbs were no longer able to understand the mess of his inner mind. As he dropped to his knees, all he could wish for was a quiet impact, the force didn't matter to him. It was left unsatisfied. An involuntary exhale escaped his almost frozen lips, and gravel scrapes through the thin material covering his shins. He watched from somewhere outside his body as warm tears hit the jagged ground, rolling past his choking throat. He saw a man splutter, hic, gasp for air, tearing at the side of his mouth as if that would give him the oxygen to breathe. His lungs grew tight, his insides churned, his eyelashes grew thick, unmovable, as small pleas left his lips. Then

Black

Was the sky above him? There were no lights, no guidance.

Black

Were his knees still underneath him? The ground didn't feel right.

Black

The frozen ground hit his raw face.

Black

Black

He gasped.

Black

Where

Black

was

Black

th

Black

e ai

Black

r

***

The smoke twisted in its artistic way, forming curls in the gloom, illuminated only by the age-speckled bar lights: club, bar, loud music, café, chips, drinks. A jangle of voices. Men and women who look older than they were, slumped on a bar, a table, a wall, pint glasses, shot glasses, someone crying in the corner, drowned out shouts, singing, back slapping, laughing, another round, cabs, drinking games, pink cheeks, swearing, fights. Lafayette watched all of this nightly, but it was still a fun scene to watch. He leaned of the bar, his dark hair falling over one hazel eye. He lolled his head to one side, flashing his pure white teeth just a taste. He wasn't drunk yet, but he liked to give the impression that he was. The bartender seemed to be drawn to him the moment he sat down, and he slurred a suggestive grin his direction. A curly strand of dark hair twirled around his forefinger, momentarily absent-mindedly before tugging at his lip with his teeth and finally ordering the first drink that came to mind. His gaze followed the man in a hazy glaze as he fetched the drink: there were muscles under the shirt and his face was above average with dark eyes and tanned skin, perhaps he'd seeing him again that night. A low chuckle escaped his throat as he heard the bell for the door ring, barely audible over the band, and two men practically fell in.  
The shorter one beamed, face flushed from alcoholic substances and maybe.. more like probably, the Lafayette thought, something else. His eyes were glowing, he was radiant as he ran a hand through a mess of light, curly hair awfully tied into a ponytail. Freckles dotted his pale skin and the two strands of curls framing his face could only cover a fraction of them. But, alas, he sighed, he met him last out of the trio meaning the third member had first dibs. John Laurens was beautiful, even when he was pulling up his shirt to cover newly formed hickeys.  
The man next to him was pulling at his waist, fingers maybe leaning slightly too low for public viewing, but nevertheless his dark eyes were enchanted by the former.  
John was the one to notice the French man perched on a stool by the bar. His face immediately lit up again; he waved once and tugged on his friend's sleeve.  
As they got closer, Gilbert noticed the glaze of saliva glistening on their red lips. He smirked to himself, leaning back on the stall to greet them, and spun around. They were happy, beaming back at him and, most of the time, he was happy too. His heartbreak came in waves, gruelling, stealing appetite and sleep alike. It was a shard of glass in his gut that never really left, though at times the edges became more blunted. In quiet moments, it choked the breath from his body and short circuited his mind. As he frequently recalled, something that was once in one piece, had shattered, where once there was peace stood nothing and there he and his other best friend were shouting for him to hear echoes of love which was unrequited. That, and only that, could cause such a pain as this. Lafayette opened his mouth, laughed with them, welcomed them to sit down with him, get a drink. Only one all the way inside a heart can tear it apart with just a few words. Sometimes the worst part was John had no idea, but his obliviousness was ideal in situations like the one he was in.

"Laf!" John grinned, downing the shot glass, and hitting Hercules hard on the back.  
"What, you silly, drunken man?" Of course it was a jest, he'd never once said anything to John with malicious intent, he just enjoyed the childish smirk that always came after it. 

"Can you--"  
"No, no," Hercules interrupted, waving a hand in front of John's face to silence him. "Can you down three?!" They cheered together, high fiving, and looked at the French man expectantly. After a moment, he grinned proudly, shouting an acceptance into the loud bar.

***

Alexander's eyes snapped open, face pressed harshly against the pavement. He gasped for breath and pushed himself up. Eventually, the ringing in his head slowly dulled, although the haziness around the edges never seemed to fade. He brought a bruised palm to his forehead, wiping the now cold sweat off his brow. The memory of how he got into that exact position wasn't the clearest and Alex heard the niggling thought of if he had dreamt New York after all. He bit his lip and the taste of dried blood and gravel stuck to his tongue.  
"I'm sorry," he whispered into the darkness. He didn't like to be dramatic when it wasn't in favour of him, however, he'd made the mistake. He'd taken the wrong train. There was no one to blame other than himself and in that moment Alex realised that he needed to get himself out of it.

"Why are you sorry?"  
Hamilton could have jumped five foot.


	2. Let me spell out my name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander could only answer one out of two questions which seemed prominent at that given time.   
> "Who is this kid?" was the easy one. He was Alexander Hamilton and he had a legacy to make.  
> "What's he going to do?" was a different matter if they were talking about short-term actions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ,,,,,,,,,,,this took way longer than it should have,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, BUT IF I HADN'T WORKED ON IT,,, FOR SIX HOURS STRAIGHT IT WOULDN'T BE DONE TODAY so i guess that's the good thing?????????????
> 
> ps thanks robin for the title choosing

Alex whipped his head around, the hair framing his face hitting his cheekbones with more force than he'd intended. A man, a giant really, stood towering over him. He was lean, his legs seemed to take up most of his body, and although one eyebrow was raised through a mass of dark, curly hair, it didn't seem to have any traces of malicious intent.   
After studying him for a moment, Alex grinned, pushed himself up and stuck out his hand.   
"Alexander Hamil--"  
"You didn't answer my question," the french accent seemed much more prominent when he spoke again and Alex wondered how he didn't hear it the first time. For a moment he thought he was angry, but he smiled as his words spilled, taking his hand gracefully and pressing his warm lips against the shorter man's cold hand. Alex flushed, almost out of instinct yanking his hand back from him, yet not repulsed by the sudden intimacy. He chuckled nervously, flattening the now obvious creases in his shirt.  
"No," straightening himself out, he eyed the smooth smirk that graced the other's velvet lips. He could do this, a simple matter of reading a stranger: he did this in his sleep. "I suppose I didn't."  
He still look expectant, and Alex felt himself mentally take note of what not to ever say where anyone could hear again. Or maybe it was just him. He did strike as the intelligent type, the curious, mysterious man from afar. ..although Hamilton was technically just that too. "It was merely a.. miscommunication." he finished with a suggestive wink, which he'd been told multiple times to stop doing. The man didn't look satisfied, but nor did he look rude so didn't push the question further. The silence between the two men became overpowering again, and Alexander tugged the cuffs of his sleeve absentmindedly.   
"May I ask," he started, for the first time taking in all of the man's outward secrets. There were slight shadows under his eyes and a glaze quite unbreakable to anything but sleep over them. Clearly, the night had swept by him and was retreating, although Alex couldn't tell whether it was still night or very early morning. However, aside from the lingering bar smoke that stuck to his clothes, he had the kind of face that could stop anyone in their tracks. He supposed he must be used that though - the sudden pause in a person's natural expression when they looked his way followed by overcompensating with a nonchalant gaze and a weak smile - a man of his early twenties at the most would be out to flaunt his lustrous gaze and attractive stance. Of course the blush that accompanied the longing, desperate stares was a dead give-away. "What might someone, as marvellous as you," and he meant every word he spoke; the man really was a spectacle, a view only few had the pleasure to see. And yet, Alex racked his brains for something less cliché to say except for his usual "wooing" techniques, the same bemused smile dusted his expression. "Might be doing in these darkened areas?"

 

A spark flickered in his dark eyes, and Alexander clocked it with his own proud eyebrow quirk. "You may.." he trailed off, jerking his head backwards for a moment causing one of the mad curls to escape the tightly pinned ponytail, and ran a pink tongue across his bottom lip. "But first," of course, there was always a catch with the intelligent ones, Alex just hadn't met one of them before this encounter. "You tell me why someone of your age is doing lying on the ground with no one near.. Monsieur Hamilton." the mispronunciation of his last name was almost endearing, besides the fact that he must have guessed the ending.  
"Catch on quickly, I see," he flashed a charming grin, eyes finally settling on the other's. His eyes were the colour of deep amber, with a mischievous glint that seemed the reflect and match the intent of his own, and he soon found himself fighting back another smirk. "Monsieur...?" bowing his head slightly, he glanced daringly up at the taller man.  
"Marquis de Lafayette."  
His eyes twinkled. "Monsieur Lafayette," the smile that then lay upon his lips was much warmer than he had first intended, but he liked this man. There was something about him. "You strike me as a man who's never been satisfied." Alex shrugged loosely after the last word rolled off his tongue. He saw Lafayette stifle back a snigger - he was warming up to him, he was breaking through.   
"Please elaborate, mon cher." Only a simple giggle and Alex sunk again into his eyes; he knew exactly what he meant, did he need it spell out? This man clearly liked to dance around the act before engaging, or maybe Alex was doing something wrong. Either way, he had to oblige to get anywhere with him.  
"You're like me, I'm never satisfied."  
"Is that right?" he had a nice accent and a nice rhythm to his voice too, Alex knew he couldn't keep him, surely this man had been courted a million times before, but he could at least have a taste.   
"I have never been satisfied."   
"You don't sound very American," the quizzical, curious look about him crept back and Alexander felt suddenly cornered. Of course the tang of Caribbean past hadn't left him yet, even if it was only in the form of speaking. Lafayette continued, "Where's your family from?"  
And there it was: the bullet. He'd only been waiting for the Frenchman to pull the trigger and that was it. He couldn't escape what he'd almost fled. He was done, his legacy nothing but a mere reporter in the press among other mindless gossip. Who would he be? Just another seed in a field of rye?  
..unless.. words had always been his forté, his weapon of choice. Sure, Lafayette was a smart man, but as long as he answered the question, he'd leave the topic alone.   
"Unimportant," Alex studied his expression carefully, watching him raise his eyebrows a fraction, and just as he opened his mouth to say something, he interrupted. "There's a million things I haven't done," a slick smirk spread his lips apart. "But just you wait." The Frenchman chuckled, gently taking his hand again.   
Lafayette lead him delicately, almost scared to injure him by pulling too hard on his hand, through the darkness as if he'd been here his entire life. Maybe he had. It wasn't unusual for a child to pick up the accent of who they were around most, even if they didn't hail from that country themselves. Maybe the questions just added to this man's mysterious façade. He glanced back at him, every so often, as if checking he was still there, but smirking and winking all the same. All Alex could do himself was return the gesture, but by that point it was too late, and all he could see was a bunch of curls bouncing as he took every step. 

***

"How long do you think Laf will be?"   
Hercules had slumped himself over the queen-sized bed, arm draped, in an undignified manner, over his boyfriend's lightly freckled thighs next to him. John shrugged in response, rubbing his eyes drowsily. He rolled onto his side, wrapping his arms around Hercules' muscular, yet thin torso. "When do you think they'll turn the lights back on?" he murmured into his tanned skin.   
"'Turn the lights back on?'" He laughed quietly, shaking his head at the question. "You know that's not what happens."  
"I know," it was John's turn to laugh, but he still nuzzled himself closer to Herc. "But when do you think this will end?"  
Herc exhaled, pulling John tighter to his side. "I dunno.. you remember what happened last time," John shuddered. "This one could longer, but---"  
"But it could be shorter too.." It was like a script, something they'd ingrained in their minds for years. It used to give him hope as a child because he'd believe it. Of course he'd question it, but to his immature mind it never meant anything. Eighteen years later and only the doubts shrouded all his conscious thoughts.   
The dreaded silence spread across the crammed room and Herc bit his lip. "You didn't answer my question," he said after a moment. He felt John blink, eyelashes delicately brushing his skin.   
He drew breath in for a second, then relaxed. "I don't know." blunt. John was worried. Slowly intertwining his hand with light, curly strands of his hair.   
"Soon."  
"...yeah."

***

Alex walked through the rough, cobbled streets, feet aching with step by that point. The buildings that surround the pair were tight together and loomed over them like a forest of stone. The alleyway was almost a maze, twisting and turning back on itself: first taking them left, then right, then finally there was breathing space. The city street which Alexander followed Lafayette through were surprisingly average to the naked eye, something seemed familiar, but not quite his New York, like a smaller, toned down-- No. Alex glanced around, studying the surrounding area thoroughly taking everything in for what felt like the first time. These streets definitely weren't smaller, if anything they were the same size as the city he was delighted to call home. They even had the same types of bars and clubs scattered across lanes and roads. In fact, they practically identical.. except one thing. Alex scrutinised the darkened windows, and shadowy, laughing faces. He blinked and looked again. There were misery in the streets, but not unlike the ones in his. It was etched in every stone-smashed window and poorly drawn street art. It soaked into cracks up old buildings and gaps in the pavement.   
Just as he opened his mouth to ask him about it, Lafeyette turned around, taking his other freezing hand too now, and turned around a sharp corner. In front of them stood a series of apartment buildings, much like the one he lived in, and the one he would be in that moment if he'd only been alert enough to check which train he was getting on. The building were a dilapidated mess, but Alex had already clocked the reason for that. The city centre that they had passed to get here looked spectacular even in the low-light, which the people had clearly chosen to spend their money on. On the ledge should have been pigeons, or at least what they left behind, peering down in the way they do, looking for pedestrians dropping fragments of their meals, dropping anything that would be small enough for them to pick up. But in the frosted dull-light the ledge was layered with roses, red and white. Turning to Alexander, took a step closer, folding both their vertically in between their chests as he did so.  
"Are you scared?" A poisonous mystery laced his words and Alex was already accepting the challenge not yet offered.  
"Never." he whispered, breath just hitting the other's lips.  
Smirking, Lafayette released his hands letting them fall gently to his sides, gesturing to the complex and turning away. Alex quickly caught up with him - his wit wasn't the only thing he could match. 

The key Lafayette produced fit the door almost perfectly, besides the colour and material, and he wondered if all apartment keys except his own were like this. The whole complex (the four floors of it which he'd seen) was quite similar to his own, excluding the number that hung nailed to the doors.  
"After you, mon cher," he smiled gracefully, and tapped the door open. As Alex stepped in, he heard voices, low, almost whispering, yet steady and conversational. He turned back to Laf for an answer.   
Once the question he was being asked actually registered in his mind, the Frenchman laughed.   
"My roommates!"  
Alex raised his eyebrows. Both their minds were obviously going in different directions. "Rommates?" he repeated.  
"John and Herc!" he exclaimed, beaming all the while.   
"O-oh-" he was suddenly pulled into what posed as a living room in the apartment probably the same size as his own.   
The two men lounging on the bed looked up, with almost the same reaction, eyes drifting to Lafayette with smiles and then a cold exterior as they hit the unfamiliar face. Laf noticed this as soon as it happened and dragged Alex to sit next to him on a couch just across the room.   
"Don't worry about them, mon ami," he said, placing an arm around his shoulder. "They're just tired and hungover," he flashed Herc and John a smirk, then turned back to Alexander. "They'll regret it tomorrow." he laughed again, removing his arm from around his shoulders to the bottom of his thigh. He swallowed as Lafayette continued talking about his two roommates. From what Alex heard, they seemed like good people, either that or Laf was just crazy about them. Both would suffice too, he supposed. John, however, was the one he heard most about: how he had cascading curly locks when they were down, a smile that would light up an entire room and eyes to match. Maybe he'd been misinterpreting the signals sent his direction after all. 

He noticed, as Laf gesticulated his stories, the speaking pattern from the other side of the room. Hercules and John hadn't stopped talking for a moment, but he couldn't hear a word of it. Sometimes they both spoke at once, unobtrusively and with a bantering inconsequence that only touched on chatter. They were still in the room, although looking into each other eyes, they probably didn't feel like it. However, they accepted Alex even if they only made a polite effort to entertain or be entertained. If Lafayette had been right, they should be the complete opposite to that the following morning; they just seemed so different to him. Alexander hurried from phase to phase toward its close in a continually disappointed anticipation or else in sheer nervous dread of the moment itself. They seemed so relaxed, reserved. He furrowed his eyebrows. They just seemed such opposites to the people in the stories.


	3. To have Washington on your side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander had finally got used to sharing an apartment with three other people, he'd got used to the smells, the weird noises, the games. He'd be happy to say he'd settled. ..until two men showed up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i stayed up last night to finish and post this and i couldnt post it rip
> 
> BTW THANK YOU SOSOOSSO FOR ANY OF YOU WHO HAVE COMMENTED OR LEFT KUDOS THOSE ABSOLUTELY MAKE MY DAY AND MOTIVATE ME TO CONTINUE WRITING THIS;;;<3333

Alex ended up staying the night, which consequently turned into two and then several which followed that. And Lafayette had been right: John and Hercules were absolute riots and although most nights were filled with drinking and shouting, Alexander loved every minute of it. He was finally part of something bigger than just a job, he had a place - he belonged somewhere. It hadn't occurred to him in great depth yet, as he lay on his make-shift bed (the living room floor which didn't even belong to him) wrapping a strand of chestnut hair around his forefinger, that he wasn't in a house he knew like the back of his hand. Of course it had passed his mind, a fleeting thought, and then nothing, but as he gazed at the slightly chipped ceiling above him, listening to Herc snore lightly over the side of the room, that he still didn't know how to get back. Surely Lafayette would tell him if there was going to be train arriving to his desired destination, right? He had been the one to find him and welcome him in the first place anyway; Laf was the only one he could rely on fully at this point, even if he would trade his life for John's or Hercules' in a matter of seconds. Alexander rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow, and sighed. He would have liked to settle the debate in his head right then and there, going into a newsagents and finding the train timetable, or even just going back to the station to see he could see anything in the daylight. Daylight. Alex turned to look at out the window over-looking the city. He blinked. It was night. Had he slept all day again? Some comfort was clearly linked to this apartment, or maybe just the people, but he had been sleeping a lot more after staying here - he didn't have a writing utensil either, so perhaps his brain had already registered that and thought staying awake was pointless. He was just about to close his eyes again in yet another sorry attempt to sleep he heard a soft knock at the door. Furrowing his eyebrows, he pushed himself up on his elbows. Who would be knocking now at this.. unknown hour? Surely only a man who had some intent would wander these darkened cities opposed to a man with no purpose. It didn't make sense. Alex bit the inside of his cheek, yearning the answer, yet fighting the urge to seize. He waited a moment in the binding silence and again the gentle knock sounded. This was getting ridiculous - whoever wanted the three men who lived in the flat would have to get past him first. 

Filled with sudden confidence, he pushed himself up, careful not to make a noise, and silently crept through the gloomy apartment. He had already positioned himself directly in front of the door when the thought hit him that a weapon might have been useful, but it was too late now. If he moved from that exact spot, whoever was behind the door would hear him and everything would be over. He took a deep breath in, awaiting the next knock, and rose his fist.  
"What are you doing?" A slightly confused, yet familiar voice whispered. Alex gasped - he really needed to get used to living with people again.  
"John," he spoke, almost inaudibly, glancing back at him. John had warmed to him quickly - clearly more of cuddly type than Hercules - and the two had bonded over mutual likes and similarities. He was kind-hearted, the middle of the age range in their trio, but definitely the heaviest drinker. The man downed liquor in seconds, yet refused any help the morning after. 

\-----

"John," Alex ran a hand through his unkempt hair in an attempt to tie it into a messy ponytail. John looked up at him groggily, managing to split a half-hearted grin.  
"Hey, Alex," he smirked, tilting his head to one side. A mass of unruly curls flooded his face. "Whatcha need?"  
"What do I need?" Concern wasn't the only emotion visible in Alex's mind as he watched the hungover bachelor, vague disappointment hung like thick mist across his eyes. He could have easily stopped when he had told him to, easily put down that "just one more" and finally accepted an early night. But no. Now he was in his denial stage of the morning after, pushing away any cool beverage that was presented by anyone other than himself. "What do you need?" He corrected.  
John snorted, waving his hand in dismissal. "What could I possibly need, I'm fine," he smiled.  
Alex's face fell. "I think we both know what you need."

\----

"Alexander," he tried to look serious, Alex could tell, but a smirk still slipped its way onto his pink lips. "What are you doing?" he repeated, laughing silently. He opened his mouth to reply when another knock sounded. It was almost rhythmic, steady, and never seemed to grow impatient. John looked at him, searching for an answer to many unspoken questions, before lifting the latch and opening the door, without giving the shorter man the time to stop him.  
"Well if it ain't the prodigy of Princeton college," he raised an eyebrow and Alex took the gesture as a reason to resume his stance prior. Then he smiled and Alex relaxed. "Aaron Burr."  
Burr lent against the door frame, one hand firmly in his pocket, the other rested casually behind his head. He had an aura so relaxed, he couldn't possibly be a stranger to this household, and Alex felt inclined, although somewhat reluctant, to step aside and let him in. He blinked, looking him up and down again, before taking in the information John had just indirectly given him. Burr. That man was Aaron Burr. The Aaron Burr.

***

 

Lafayette stretched and rolled over placing a hand elegantly over his mouth as he yawned the world a good morning. Dark curls rolled over his forehead, bouncing out of the band tied at the back of his head. He blinked, rubbed thickly eyelashed-eyes eventually adjusting to the light of his surroundings. After a swift surveillance of the gloomy room, he quickly clocked the absence of both Hamilton, in the centre of the floor, and John, who should be sleeping peacefully next to Hercules. Grabbing for a shirt at the side of the sofa, he pulled himself into a sitting position and lent forward to follow the voices in hushed whispers by the door. 

***

 

Alexander swallowed, subconsciously pushing Laurens aside to stand in front of him. "Pardon me for asking, but," he trailed off, wondering how to delicately put he'd been following in his footsteps ever since he knew his name. "Are you Aaron Burr, sir?"  
"That depends," he tilted his chin up, a sense of arrogance was held around him. "Who's asking?"  
"Oh, well sure, sir," He heard John chuckle, but chose to ignore his mockery. "I'm Alexander Hamilton, I'm at your service, sir." He gazed up at him, hopeful, disregarding the fact that he'd just spoken a sentence in the time it usually takes someone to say two words. "I have been... I've honestly been searching for you since you graduated, since I moved here!"  
"I'm getting nervous." Short, unrevealing answers - not exactly what he had wanted in an ideal world, but he could easily make do.  
"I heard your name at Princeton," he rubbed the back of his neck nervously, somewhat giddy at the opportunity he had just been presented. "I was seeking an accelerated course of study," Burr raised an eyebrow.

Lafayette tip-toed softly across the hallway over to them. He noticed the figure in the door frame and smirked, before draping his tanned, muscular arms around John's pale, yet freckled shoulders. He felt him draw breath then quickly relax as he recognised the scent immediately. John had stepped back from the ever-growing conversation of his two acquaintances and had taken to observing as if it were a new drama about to unfold. 

"I want to do what you did," he bounced like an excited toddler at the availability in the conversation to mention his dream. "Graduate in two and change the way society acts!" he bashed his head gently, but firmly, with the base of his palm as if wracking his brains for the right question to sum up all the rest of them that were flying around in his mind. "So how'd you do it? How'd you graduate so fast?"  
Aaron sighed, glancing away from Alex, into the distance of the almost rural building. "It was my parents' dying wish before they past." he didn't seem upset at this being mention, more nostalgic, with a sense of fulfilment, and Alex felt happy for him.  
His face lit up suddenly as the realisation dawned on him. "You're an orphan?"  
Burr nodded gently. "Of course."  
"I'm an orphan!" Hamilton spoke, gesturing wildly between himself and Aaron with no real, understandable meaning.  
"I think," John stepped in, placing his hands on Alex's shoulders, while Laf greeted Burr with a civil nod, then strolled back to the sofa to wake Herc. "That is enough," Lafayette laughed as he ushered Alex away from the doorway so Burr could actually walk in. John looked at him.  
"Did you bring him?"  
"Bring who?" There'd been no one else at the door, Alex was sure of it and he'd been there the entire time. Burr's answer had to be a definite, resounding "no", not a disdainful scoff followed with a casual "of course". But sure enough, he stepped aside and a man, looking only a few years older than the rest, in uniform walked forward.  
"Washington," John smiled warmly, clearly making a pathway for him to walk through. Straightening his tie, ruffled his hair making John beam. Washington was a tower-like man, only a few inches off Hercules' standing height, with a gaze of pure steal. There was a magnet in his manner and a quiet, so profound that everyone stopped talking when he graced the room with his voice. His authority was so great that his word seemed to be taken on any subject whether it be what to wear or who to vote for. Hamilton smirked despite his casual aura of authority, his eyebrows just added to the entire getup as well; while they furrowed, a whole new expression could be determined. All of this wasn't to say he could be useful - as a police officer, he should know the whereabouts of this city like the back of hand. He'd easily know where the train station was and, if he were lucky, the train timetables too. Now, he watched Washington survey the small area and stride over to Lafayette on the sofa, all he had to do was gain his trust.  
"George!" Laf flung himself on him, grinning.  
"Lafayette," he gave a calm, yet tight smile, patting him once of the back before letting go. 

Alex followed John and Aaron back into the living room, still with a mist of sleepiness covering it. Hercules had sat up by now and Burr had taken position just next to him. After Laf had finished his surprisingly short conversation with him, Alexander attempted to take a few steps toward him without anyone noticing. It worked. ..until Herc reminded Laf that he hadn't introduced the two yet.  
"Ah, George! Look!" he spun him around to face Alexander. "This is him!"  
"So this is the man you've been talking about?" Washington eyed Alex up and down once before holding out his hand for a shake. "You must be Alexander...?"  
"Alexander Hamilton," he grinned, proudly, taking his hand, then quickly added, "Sir."  
His eyes seemed to soften at Alex's desperate attempt to make a good impression on him and almost cracked a small smile. "Alexander Hamilton.." he repeated, as if throwing the name around in his mind. "Have I heard it before?"  
He laughed nervously, running a hand through his messy locks. "Probably not yet, sir, but-"  
"No I have," he smirked at him. "You publish in the papers sometimes."  
"Oh, yeah," he glanced down at his toes covered by thin, white cotton. "That's only a side job really, reporting."  
"Huh," he acted impressed, Alex thought, studying his very few expressions carefully.  
"But just you wait," he grinned as if uttering the final word of a speech.  
George seemed intrigued, so Alex continue, trying not to ignore the obvious conversation going on in the background between the other four. 

They were speaking in hushed voices, making it nearly impossible to make out a word that was spoken, especially over his own conversation, without clearly pushing Washington aside. Instead, Alexander offered him a seat on the opposite sofa, with Laf's clothes sprawled on it, so he could less obviously observe their facial expressions. 

Alex was unable to gage how long his exchanged words with George had gone on for, but soon they came to a close, and he'd almost forgotten the other conservation going on in front of him. "Alexander," Lafayette stood up, tightening the messy bun on his head, and walked gently over to him and Hercules on the opposite sofa. He inhaled deeply and Alex cocked a brow: this was clearly serious, either that or just Laf personally found it difficult to say. Hercules looked stern from across the room and Aaron looked.. unfazed. Alex narrowed his eyes for a moment before guiding his attention back to what he expected to be the concerned Lafayette, but he was smiling now and winking suggestively. Alex frowned, somewhat expecting an explanation. "I think," he said eventually, tapping his forehead knowingly. "You and Burr should have some alone time to talk it through," he winked again and Alexander almost laughed at the idea. Glancing up at Aaron, he gave him an unwarranted smile and he bit his lip in return. Not the response he was looking for, but it would have to do. Alexander pushed himself up from his seat next to George and strode over to Burr, who was already taking his leave. He thanked the other four before turning to Alex and beckoning up to pick up the pace. Alex obliged and soon matched the steady footfall of the other male, waving a short goodbye to the rest. 

"Burr?" Alexander had tried to stay silent for as long as he could bare as the two of them walked the desolate streets. His curiosity had finally got the best of him as he gnawed the inside of his cheek, hands scrambling around in his pockets.  
Aaron looked across at him. "You want an explanation?" Alex nodded firmly. Sighing, he clenched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "To put it simply, Washington and I decided we have a better place for you to stay, instead of with those three."  
Alex scrunched up his nose. He hadn't even realised anyone other than those three had known about his whereabouts, or even existence in that city, yet they both spoke as if they'd been reporting back to them. Maybe they had. He was the who'd randomly showed up in the city one night and suddenly had free accommodation and food. If it weren't for Lafayette finding him and all three of their hospitality, he didn't think he'd even been still wandering around right now. He owed them his life and he would repay them some day.  
"A better place?" Was anyone else willing to take him in? Burr didn't seem like the kind of guy to just open his house to the public and by the way he was saying it pointed all evidence away from him. If he were to stay with Washington, surely he'd be the one to walk him out and gie him the ground rules on living with him, not Burr. Alex furrowed his eyebrows. Maybe he was to stay in a police devised area until they could figure out how to get him home.  
"We thought it'd be more suitable, honestly, until," he looked at him with a mix of contempt and concern. "You can get back."


End file.
